Chilly
by NinjaTarantula
Summary: Basically just a fluffy Johnlock one-shot I wrote for a friend. A cold crime scene and a concerned Sherlock make for fluffiness galore. I know, rubbish name, rubbish summary, just pleeeease? Also this is my first fanfic. Pweaaase? SLASH AND FLUFF
1. A Realisation

**A/N This is my first ever fanfic. Please be kind, but constructive criticism is very welcome. I have had two people beta this, my good friends Ellie and Ashleigh, and neither of them could find any mistakes but if you do I'd appreciate the input.**

**DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately, despite all of my wishing and hoping, I still do not own any kinds of rights to BBC's Sherlock.**

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><p>John shivered, the crime scene was freezing and Sherlock had dragged him out of the door before he had a chance to pick up his coat. He glared at the back of the consulting detectives head and sighed irritably. Just one lazy day, surely that wasn't too much to ask? Sherlock was rambling off his deductions to Lestrade who was looking at the body and listening intently. John tried to focus on what he was saying but he was far too tired and cold to get anywhere with it. He glanced balefully at the long coat Sherlock always wore. It was pulled tight around his frame and looked quite warm and snug. Suddenly, quite without warning, Sherlock stopped mid-deduction, span round, pulled his coat off and wrapped it around John's shoulders. John's eyes widened in surprise.<p>

"What was that for?"

Sherlock muttered "Looked cold." Then went back to listing his observations to a shocked DI who also looked rather smug. John suspected a bet was involved in his smugness and made a mental note to talk to him later. After returning Sherlock's coat of course. And that led him back to the question at hand. What exactly just happened? John tried to calm himself inconspicuously. Ok, so _Sherlock just gave you his coat_. Since when does he care about other people's health? Also wasn't he now cold, with only his scarf? John bit his lip. Yeah, he was. You could probably see the goose bumps on his arms a mile away. He frowned. Then why lend John his coat if he was going to be cold? There was really only one answer to this. He cared. At least, he cared a little bit. Enough to lend him his coat to keep him warm. John smiled a bit at that. Sherlock Holmes, caring for another human. It was a rather odd though. And one John was quite happy with. Sherlock had finished with his deductions and now was answering a few questions from Lestrade, who kept glancing at John, still looking rather smug. Sherlock, John noticed, glanced up at John very briefly, with a look of concern on his face. It was a well hidden look but John knew him well enough to spot it. The look was only there for a split second, and then John smiled at him. And the look vanished and a small smile of relief took its place. He looked back at Lestrade, answered one last question and then walked up to John.

"Okay?"

John smiled "Fine."

"Good. Home?"

John nodded, "In a moment." He pulled the coat off of himself and wrapped it back around Sherlock. He frowned.

"But now you're cold."

John smiled. "I'll be fine."

Sherlock shook his head. "It's below freezing. Here."

He pulled the coat off again and offered it to John, who shook his head. It's your coat. You wear it."

Sherlock sighed and, before John had the chance to protest again, wrapped the coat around John. "I'll be fine until we get to the taxi."

John frowned. "Fine. But if you get a cold, don't go blaming me."

Sherlock chuckled softly and started walking towards the road. "Come on then."

John jogged to catch up, then matched his pace to Sherlock's. They walked in companionable silence until they reached the taxi that was waiting for them. As they climbed in Sherlock reached over and pulled John close to him. John stiffened.

"What are you doing?" He asked, painfully aware of Sherlock's warm leg pressed up against his own."Shhh." Came the reply. A second later an arm snaked its way around his waist and he felt Sherlock's head rest on top of his own.

"No. Really. What are you doing?"

"It's for warmth." He said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like it wasn't at all odd for flat mates to, essentially, cuddle in the back of a taxi.

"Why?" He finally asked after what seemed like ages, but was probably only a few seconds.

"Because you've got my coat. You're warm. I'm borrowing your warmth." He huddled a bit lower in his seat. "It's a long drive back to Baker Street. Sleep if you want, I'll wake you up when we get there."

"I'm not tired..."

"Yes, you are"

"How-" He sighed. "Never mind. Fine. But wake me up as soon as we get there. And you owe me a lazy day by the way." He added as he drifted off.

Sherlock laughed softly as he fell asleep. He didn't sleep much himself so of course studying others doing it was fascinating. Especially John sleeping, all of the soldiers training slipped away when he was sleeping and he looked years younger. Apart from when the nightmares hit him. Then he'd thrash and scream and wake up in a cold sweat, sometimes he'd even be shaking or crying. Sherlock knew this because he'd heard it. When they first moved in together the nightmares had been almost every night. Now they had subsided slightly, but they were still present. In the beginning he'd sit in the living room and listen to his only friend terrified and alone, having dreamt of his experiences back in Afghanistan. Sherlock smiled sadly down at the sleeping man. "You had to go and make me sentimental, didn't you?" He whispered to the sleeping form that had opened his heart and made him love. John smiled in his sleep and muttered, "Sherlock..."

Sherlock froze at the sound of his name. He looked down. John was still sound asleep. So John was dreaming about him. At least it wasn't a nightmare this time. He sat back, slightly uplifted by this thought and watched the world go by from the taxi window. He glanced down at John from time to time, just to make sure he wasn't having another nightmare. He smiled as they turned onto Baker Street and nudged John with his elbow. John murmured incoherently and snuggled further into Sherlock's side.

Sherlock sighed and shook him gently, "Wake up." He muttered.

John opened his eyes, realised what, or rather who, he was lying on and pulled back extremely fast, blushing. "I, er - Sorry."

Sherlock frowned "For what?"

"Well, falling asleep on you."

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine." He pointed out of the window. "We're home."

John blinked a few times and looked out of the window. "So we are."

Sherlock climbed out of the taxi and walked up to the flat. John sighed and paid the driver, then followed Sherlock inside. By the time he'd got upstairs, Sherlock had flopped down, lying on the sofa with his fingers steepled under his chin, glaring up at the ceiling thoughtfully. John considered asking him if he was okay, but quickly dismissed the idea. If Sherlock wanted to talk to him, he'd talk. There was no point in pushing it. He sighed and sat down in his own chair to read a book. About a minute later a shadow crossed his face and he looked up. Sherlock was right there, only a couple of inches between their faces. John froze, all too aware of the fact that if he just leaned forwards the tiniest bit, then they'd be kissing. The scary thing was, he rather liked the idea of that.

He tried to clear his head a bit and asked "Do you- do you need anything?"

Sherlock didn't respond. He just looked over every inch of John's face and carefully noted both John's increased pulse rate and dilated pupils and his own. Once he had finished analysing every inch of John's face, he braced his arms either side of John's head and leaned forwards slowly, making his intentions very clear and making time so John could lean away if he wanted to. What he didn't anticipate was for John to dart forwards and catch Sherlock's lips in his own. Sherlock didn't respond for a few agonising moments and then he went to work, attacking John's mouth with his own. He grazed his teeth over John's bottom lip. John gasped, and Sherlock took the opportunity to slip his own tongue into his mouth. John smirked at the intrusion and fought back with his own tongue. For the longest time there was nothing but them. The rest of the world faded away and all that remained was them kissing. Finally John pulled back for air. Sherlock smiled and sat on the arm of John's chair.

"You" John gasped "Are a complete git."

Sherlock frowned "What did I do?"

John laughed, still a little bit out of breath. "Drag me out of the house at stupid hour in the morning; don't even let me grab my coat. Completely confuse Scotland Yard with even more rumours about us by giving me your coat. Probably catch a sodding cold because you're an idiot. Then kiss me. Take your pick."

Sherlock tilted his head. "Problem?"

John grinned and wrapped an arm around the back of Sherlock's neck. "No. Objections?"

Sherlock smiled "None."

"Good." John smiled and then pulled Sherlock back to him.

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><p><strong>Soooo, what did you think? Maybe you could review and leave your comments? *Hint hint hint?* ^_^ Thanks for reading!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N First of all thanks to Lorean and an Anon for reviewing and to the four lovely people who favourited! I'd write some emotional stuff but I'm sure you'd all rather read the damn story.**

**I still own nothing despite many desperate pleas to the BBC.**

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><p>John smiled sleepily as the sunlight hit his skin. He rolled over to avoid the rays and found himself lying on something very warm and breathing. He sighed happily and burrowed further into the warm thing. He knew there was something he should remember about yesterday, but for the life of him, couldn't work out what it was. He shrugged and decided it'd make itself known eventually….<p>

Oh. _Oh. _Yes, well…. that was. He poked the warm thing and received a muttering sound by his ear for his trouble. So that _did_ happen then. Huh. It wasn't just a weird, wonderful dream. Wait. He scanned back through his memories of the previous night. Nope, they hadn't actually _done_ anything. They'd just slept. Sherlock had followed him to his room when he'd yawned and pointed out that he was tired. John frowned, why had he done that again? He'd not been very helpful with his answer. John had asked him what he was doing and he'd said… Oh what did he say? Oh yes, "To help." Oh. So he knew about the nightmares then. Of course he did. He's Sherlock. Right on cue, the man himself spoke.

"Are you awake?"

John frowned. Sherlock's voice sounded strange. He sat up and turned to look at Sherlock then promptly burst out laughing.

Sherlock frowned "It's not funny."

John's laughter subsided slightly. "No, of course not." He smiled and rumpled Sherlock's hair affectionately. "I told you you'd get a cold didn't I, you moron?"

Sherlock squinted up at him through the sunlight. His nose was bright red, a startling contrast to his pale skin. All in all, it gave him the appearance of a snowman with a tomato rather than a carrot for a nose. John smirked and bit his tongue as an attempt to not giggle.

Sherlock frowned. "Stop gloating. It's not very becoming on you."

John felt Sherlock's forehead as he replied. "You're just sulky that I was right for a change." He frowned. "Jesus, Sherlock you're burning up." He rolled out of bed and poked Sherlock in the chest when he tried to follow him.

"Wait here. I'll be back in a moment."

"But-"

"You. Wait. Here."

Sherlock frowned and reluctantly complied. Inside he felt freezing, outside his skin felt like it should be on fire. He frowned. He didn't like being ill. It was boring. John returned moments later with a glass of water and some pills.

"Headache?" He asked offering Sherlock the glass of water. Sherlock made a noise in confirmation. John tutted in sympathy and handed him the pills. Sherlock gulped them down with the water and then pulled a face. John smiled and held his arms out for Sherlock to snuggle into. Sherlock smiled slightly and buried his face into John's chest. John gasped at the heat.

Sherlock frowned and looked up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Sleep."

Sherlock shook his head. "Boring."

"Sherlock. You are sick. You need to sleep." John said sternly.

Sherlock sighed and pulled him closer. "Fine. I'll try."

John kissed his burning forehead. "Thank you."  
>Sherlock sighed and began to drift off. John just lay there, holding him. When he was sure Sherlock was asleep, he slid out from underneath him and went to shower and make himself breakfast. A little while later he returned to his room, hair dripping wet and holding a plate of toast. Sherlock was writhing around on the bed. John practically threw the plate at his desk before running over to grab Sherlock's hand and brush his sweaty hair out of his face.<p>

"Shhh. It's fine. I'm here."

Sherlock convulsed in his sleep and cried out. John pulled him upright and held, trying to keep the nightmare, whatever it was about at bay.

"J-John… No, no." Sherlock muttered feverishly.

"Shhh. I'm here. You're fine, everything's fine. Shhh Sherlock, shhh." John whispered soothingly into his ear, gently rocking him backwards and forwards. Sherlock's dream appeared to have subsided then, but suddenly he tore out of John's arms and sat bolt upright, panting. He whirled round and spotted John. His eyes were slightly unfocused as he threw himself at John and clung to him. John wrapped his arms around him and continued to mutter soothing words into his ear until he'd calmed down. Then he pulled back to look him in the eyes.

"Are you okay now?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." He reached out and stroked John's face.

John frowned. "What was your dream about?"

Sherlock sighed. "Do you really want to know?" He sighed again. "Fine. You were…. There was…"

John frowned and brushed Sherlock's hair back. "Tell me from the beginning."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "We were back at the pool. Only this time…" He shuddered slightly and, reflexively, John tightened his arms around Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock seemed to draw some strength from this and went on.

"This time, the sniper fired. But it didn't hit me or the bomb. It hit you. Right in the head. And I wished it'd hit the best. Because that way we could both be dead. I didn't want to live without you…" John sat in complete silence throughout the entire recount and when Sherlock finished he leaned down and kissed him. "I'm here. I'm alive. We both are." He toyed with a strand of Sherlock's hair. "It was just a dream."

Sherlock sighed. "I know that…. I was just…" he sighed again and pulled back. "I'm okay now."

"Good. You look a little better too. Less… red." He tapped Sherlock's nose to make a point.

Sherlock frowned reproachfully. John laughed softly and kissed him gently. Sherlock reached up and wound his fingers into John's hair. John sighed and pulled back.

"Want to get up?"

Sherlock sighed, pulled him in for a brief kiss and then sat up. "It'd be better than lying here all day…"

"The bed is kind of boring." John agreed.

Sherlock looked thoughtful. "For some uses it can be quite interesting though…" He looked at John through his eyelashes.

John looked at him. Did he mean…? Surely not…

"Such as?" He asked, bunching the bed sheets in one hand.

Sherlock rested a hand on John's, "I think you know exactly what I mean…" He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

John gaped. Okay, now that was definitely a come-on. Unsurprisingly, John felt utterly fine with this. Still it was a bit of a shock. He'd always assumed Sherlock was asexual but a rather seductive looking Sherlock was telling him different. He smirked and leaned forwards, "Not sure I do. Mind showing me?"

Sherlock leaned forward so his face was only an inch from John's "Gladly…"

John shivered as Sherlock's breath ghosted across his skin. The two grinned at each other and brought their lips together in a hot, passionate kiss.

Meanwhile, a forgotten plate of toast sat on a desk, forlornly, as two flatmates, best friends, and now lovers finally confirmed the world's suspicions. Now they were definitely sleeping together. In every sense of the phrase.

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><p><strong>Hey, hey. Reviews are love, :)<strong>


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